


Promising, but Raw

by tal_yadin



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: D'Artagnan is a Puppy, Episode 2, Episode Related, Gen, Panic Attacks, The Others Look After Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tal_yadin/pseuds/tal_yadin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's done.<br/>Vadim is dead and the royal jewls has been returned, but it seems that, if it isn't a maniac with a fondness for explosives, than it will be D'Artagnan's own mind playing tricks on him. <br/>Luckily, it seems like his new friends have a little experience in the area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promising, but Raw

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes. This piece has been sitting unfinished on my computer since the second episode aired (and yes, I know, one hell of a delay) and I figured it was about high time I've finished it. So here it is and I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> ( To those of you who are waiting for updates on my chaptered fics, I'm so sorry it's taking so long, but I'm in a bit of a writer block. I apologize and promise to continue as soon as I can.)
> 
> comments and Kudos are most appriciated, hope you enjoy <3

D'Artagnan closes the door to his room behind him. He has to admit, he is rather thankful that, for once, Constance isn't there to fret over the blood in his hair, or the black circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He is not sure he could stay awake long enough to sooth her worries.

He unbuckles his belt and sets it aside, pistol, sword and dagger still attached then pulls his leathers off to reveal his – rather filthy – undershirt. He'll have to wash it up later. Not bothering to take off more than that he sits heavily on the edge of the bed, mindful of the bruises he earned during his prison break with Vadim.

Vadim. D'Artagnan can hear that madman's voice inside his head, as clear as a bell.

_"It was a good trick. It should've worked."_

With the man's last words ringing in his ears D'Artagnan hunches forward, staring down at his hands. His palms are scratched and bruised, knuckles bloodied and there is red wetness soaking through the dirty white of his shirt at the wrists.

Suddenly, he is slipping from his sitting place on the bed to the floor as his heart starts to hummer forcefully against his ribcage. He ends up on his knees, against the side of the bed. His breathing turns labored, too loud to his own ears and he can almost hear the hiss of a fuse burning through the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. He can still smell gunpowder in the air around him, the scent of it so thick it burns the inside of his throat.

His sight turns blurry and he closes his eyes _, only to find himself again in the tunnels beneath the palace, thick ropes rendering his arms useless. He watches helplessly as Vadim covers the candle to protect the flame from stray gusts of wind. "Fourteen minutes, tick-tock, tick-tock." The man grins at him and shuts the door behind him, the loud sound sealing D'Artagnan's fate._

D'Artagnan feels the terror expending in his chest, driving all the air out of his lungs. He manages to take a deep shuddering breath before he feels the hitch in his throat and lifts a hand to his mouth, biting hard on the backside of his hand to hold a scream at bay. He feels the sound rising in his throat and bites harder, breaking the skin and tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

 He stays that way, breathing in desperate pants through his nose, teeth sank deep in his own flash. He knows that if he lets go, the sound will escape and once he starts screaming, he is not sure he'll be able to stop.

He hunches forward, his free hand gathered close to his stomach and struggles to push through the waves of fear. Images flash in his mind and he fights to concentrate on the pain in his hand, in his head, anything that'll keep him from drowning in the horrors of his own memories.

When he feels the wetness of tears on his face he can't bring himself to care. He is too busy trying to hold on to whatever thin threads of sanity he has left.

**************

As soon as they arrive at the court-yard Treville orders D'Artagnan to go home and rest, claiming that Athos, Porthos and Aramis are more than capable of reporting the success of the mission and whatever pieces are missing the boy can fill in later.

Athos watches as the boy turns to leave without protest. D'Artagnan must be truly exhausted if he doesn't even bothers to try and argue. _Or maybe it's something worse_ , a little voice whispers in Athos' head and he shakes it off. The sooner they are finished with the formalities, the sooner they can go and check up on the boy.

Once the report is finished, the three head together to the Bonacieux house, Athos leading the way and the other two close behind. Once they reach the house, a servant girl allows them inside, she apologizes for her master's absence and leaves them to find D'Artagnan's room on their own. 

When the three reach the room, the door is closed and if D'Artagnan is there, there is nothing to indicate it. Athos steps forward and knocks a few times. "D'Artagnan?" He waits for a reaction and when none comes he trades quick glances with Porthos and Aramis behind him, before turning to try again.

"D'Artagnan?" He raises his voice a little now, in case the door is muffling the sound and knocks a few more times. "Boy, are you in there?" A trace of concern trickles into his voice. "Perhaps he's asleep?" Aramis inquires quietly from behind him and Athos stops to consider for a moment.  

Athos reaches for the handle and slowly opens the door, not wanting to wake the boy if he is asleep. After all that has happened in the last few days, D'Artagnan needs, and deserves, whatever rest he can get. As the door opens to reveal a small part of the room, the three notice D'Artagnan's sword and pistol, laid on a small cupboard near the bed.

The bed, however, is empty, unoccupied and Athos opens the door farther only to be met with a sight that makes the blood freeze in his veins. The three men fall completely still.

Their friend is seated on his knees by the bed, hunched forward over one hand that is curled close to his stomach, his mouth hidden behind the other, the back of the hand against his mouth. His scalp is covered in dried blood, from the wound the boy insisted was nothing, and his face still covered in dirt and dust from his time in the tunnels.

But the thing that truly catches their eyes, are the silent tears running down his cheeks. He makes no noise, but his eyes are screwed shut and the three can tell he's unaware of their presence. Or anything else around him for that matter.

 They stand in the doorway for a few moments, staring. Then Athos suddenly notices a red stain spreading on the boy's shirt cuff, one that wasn't there just a moment ago and a wave of panic washes over him. D'Artagnan isn't holding the back of his hand to his mouth. _He is biting it._

He hears Aramis inhaling sharply behind him and Porthos muttering a curse and realizes they've noticed it too. He breaks from his stupor and rushes to kneel at the boy's side. "D'Artagnan!" He calls sharply, trying to get the younger men's attention, to snap him out of it.

D'Artagnan's eyes snap open, shinning with the tears that are still streaming down his face, but his eyes don't focus on anything, staring emptily into space and Athos knows that he can't see him, can't see any of them. He grabs the boy's wrist and tries to pull it away carefully, but D'Artagnan resists digging his teeth harder into the flash of his hand and Athos stops pulling. He fears the boy would rip the flash off his hand.

There is blood trickling down the arm from where the boy's teeth broke the skin and Athos struggles to encompass his own anger and guilt. They should have never let the boy into such a situation, he's young, untrained,  inexperienced and Athos should have known what that sort of thing does to a man. He can deal with it later, though. Right now, he needs to help D'Artagnan.

He lays a firm hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder, the other one still wrapped around the young man's wrist. "D'Artagnan." He keeps his voice soft, soothing, trying to breach through to the trembling boy. "D'Artagnan, stop." He squeezes the D'Artagnan's shoulder gently, silently praying that his efforts would calm his friend. "Let go D'Artagnan, you are hurting yourself."

Suddenly, D'Artagnan blinks and Athos feels the tension bleeding out from the shoulder beneath his hand. He tries to pull at the boy's wrist again and this time D'Artagnan let him pull it away from his mouth. Athos eyes the wound for a split second, wincing inwardly at the bleeding marks, before returning his eyes to D'Artagnan's, as the boy breathes shakily through his mouth.

D'Artagnan uninjured hand lifts to clench around the arm Athos put on his shoulder. "Athos?" Athos breathes in relief. D'Artagnan's voice sounds croaked, as if he can't quite get the words out and Athos release his wrist to place his hand on the boy's other shoulder, carefully starting to pull him to his feet. "You're alright D'Artagnan, you're alright."

"Aramis, go ask the maid for some bandages for his injuries, Porthos, get him something to eat, I'm sure the madam wouldn't mind if we used her kitchen." He orders as he steadies D'Artagnan on his feet and leads him to the kitchen, sitting him down in one of the chairs. D'Artagnan sways in the chair for a moment before leaning heavily against the back of it.

Athos promptly pulls a chair closer so that he can sit across from him. He takes D'Artagnan's hand again, gently inspecting the bleeding teeth marks before raising his eyes to the boy's face. D'Artagnan refuses to meet his eyes, instead staring numbly at the tabletop and Athos contains a sigh, a pang of guilt rushing through him again.

Aramis reenters the room and sets a bowl of water and some bandages on the table, before stepping behind D'Artagnan's chair, intent on checking the source of bleeding on the boy's head. Athos reaches for a clean cloth and wets it, carefully starting to clean the wound on the back of D'Artagnan's hand.

"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan's voice is hushed but in the silence of the room they all hear it. He still won't meet any of their eyes. "I don't know what happened." A note of embarrassment creeps into his voice, but he still sounds mostly exhausted. Athos glances at his face again. Behind them Porthos quietly arranges a few plates.

Athos gives up the attempt to catch the young men's eyes and concentrates on cleaning the wound as he speaks. "You've nothing to be sorry for, D'Artagnan." Aramis hums in agreement from his position behind D'Artagnan's chair and pats his shoulder gently.

"Once the rush of battle dies down, your body likes to remind you it's still alive." He explains and continues to wash the blood out of the boy's scalp. "It happens to everyone." Aramis assures and Athos glances up again in time to catch a faint smile stretching D'Artagnan's lips. "Everyone?" He looks quizzically at Athos and Athos can't help his own little curl of lips.

He reaches to grab a clean bandage from the pile and starts to carefully wrap it around D'Artagnan's palm. "Yhea kid, even us, at the beginning." Porthos chuckles lightly as he brings the food to the table. D'Artagnan turns his gaze on him and Porthos shrugs. "It gets easier with time." D'Artagnan resumes his staring at the table.

Athos ties the bandage securely and makes to wrap his fingers around the boy's wrist to inspect his wrapping when D'Artagnan winces, causing him to let go instantly. Aramis frowns, worried. "I wasn't touching you." He was wetting his cloth again, well away from D'Artagnan's head.

Athos shakes his head, reaching, more carefully this time, to D'Artagnan's arm and pushes the sleeve of his shirt higher up his arm to reveal the wrist. They all stare for a few moments, the three of them in horror and D'Artagnan in confusion, at the skin of his wrist. Bleeding gushes, surrounded by bruised skin, as if the skin was rubbed raw.

A spark of realization appears in D'Artagnan's eyes and he pulls his hand from Athos' gentle grip, pulling at his other sleeve to reveal the similarly abused wrist of his other hand. He sags back against the back of his chair. "It must have been the ropes." He concedes, as if to himself and allows Athos to take his arm again, this time attending to the wrist rather than the palm.

"Ropes?" Aramis asks gently and Athos is grateful for it, he is having a hard time biting back his anger as it is, he isn't sure he'd have been able to question D'Artagnan calmly. Porthos is unnaturally still in his sit and Athos knows he is not the only one to have this problem. D'Artagnan nods, somewhat dazed and absent-minded, at the questing. "He tied me to the barrels of gun powder."

Aramis' hands still their ministration. None of them asks who 'He' is referring to. Athos' mind leaps back to the exchange between Vadim and D'Artagnan. _"It was a good trick. It should've worked." The madman said to D'Artagnan. "It nearly did." Was the young man's reply._ Maybe D'Artagnan's mind went there as well, because a sudden shiver wrecks his frame.

Aramis tightens his hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder and he quickly turns to tend to the boy's other wrist while Athos finishes wrapping the one he's been cleaning. They won't ask any more questions. Not today. Tomorrow, when he tells the story to the Captain, they'll all be there. Today, they are all here and that's enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to point that I have never had a panic attack before and I wrote this based on other works fituring that sort of thing and on my undrstanding of the general idea, so if I've made any serious mistakes, feel more than free to point them out.  
> Thak you for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)


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